Resistance
by geekmama
Summary: "... three against one is hardly fair..." - Sherlock's post TAB confrontation with his irate pathologist, a thousand words for the "Teammates" prompt, set after Advent in the Honorable Intentions universe.


_**~ Resistance ~**_

 _For the 'Teammates' prompt_

"Rehab is a bloody waste of time," Sherlock snapped. "And three against one is hardly fair."

"Four!" Mycroft said brightly, giving a little wave from Molly's most comfortable armchair.

Sherlock, still under the influence though now rapidly descending, threw an appropriate but very offensive obscenity at his smug sibling, but Mycroft just lifted a brow and turned to watch Molly's reaction.

It was immediate, and explosive. "That's _it!_ _Out!_ "

This was not going at all to plan. "Molly-"

" _Out!_ I will _not_ have you abusing your brother, who has been nothing but patient with you in-"

"Molly, you've _no idea_ what-"

But, to Sherlock's surprise, Mycroft broke in with, "You really _don't_ , Miss Hooper." Then, of course, he had to spoil it by going on, "I've no doubt you'll be treated to some overly dramatic, not to say lurid, anecdotes if you elect to continue your association with my brother. I must, however, encourage you to do so, in spite of the prospect of Sherlock's tale bearing. Though Moriarty's resurrection is almost certainly a hoax, we must consider it a given that the perpetrator of this hoax is well aware of your importance to my brother, professionally and otherwise. Sherlock's regard, which appears to have evolved into something closely resembling ordinary human sentiment, has placed you in considerable danger."

"And by _ordinary human sentiment_ ," Mary Watson said, from the couch where she sat next to her husband, "he means Sherlock loves you and wants to keep you safe." She turned to John. "Is that clear enough?"

John nodded, trying not to laugh as he looked at Sherlock. "Oh, yeah. I'd say so."

But Molly said, "That's ridiculous," and folded her arms across her chest in a pose both belligerent and defensive. "Not a word from him since Christmas Eve, and now he shows up high as a kite? His _six-month assignment out of the country,_ without so much as a _text_ goodbye, having been suddenly cancelled? How does _that_ equate to love?"

Sherlock sighed and said, "Molly, can we go in the bedroom, I need to talk to you—"

"No! I will not-"

" _It was supposed to be fatal!_ " Sherlock roared at her, his patience worn too thin.

She stared. Mycroft winced - as did Mary. John looked suddenly horrified.

"Magnussen didn't die of a heart attack on Christmas Day," Sherlock said wearily. "I shot him, in cold blood. It was necessary. I'd do it again in a heartbeat, but I knew that the consequences would likely be fatal for me as well. My incarceration would have put more lives in danger, so exile, an assignment in Eastern Europe that Mycroft had previously warned me not to take. It seemed the best he could do for me, until Ji-uh… Moriarty's reappearance." Sarcastic mention of _Jim from IT_ was probably not the way to get Molly to cooperate.

John said, slowly, "So, the drugs… you really meant to…"

"Yes, John. I was merely waiting until we'd left English airspace to make it final.

John's expression of horror was now mixed with understanding, and even some sympathy.

There was none in Molly's, however. Merely renewed fury as she fully realized what he'd intended. "You were just going to _give up?_ _The great Sherlock Holmes?_ "

Sherlock winced and opened his mouth to protest. Then closed it again.

And Mary rose to her feet. "Molly, will you speak to _me_ in private?"

Molly looked at her, then at each of the men, ending with another scathing glare at Sherlock. "Yes, all right," she said, and led the way into her bedroom.

Mycroft rose with some effort, the stress of the last week, capped by a sleepless night, taking its toll. "I'll make some tea, shall I? And make a call or two." He wandered into Molly's kitchen.

Sherlock, his face set against the painful anxiety that beset both body and mind, went over to the window. He barely registered satisfaction that Mycroft's security detail was in evidence, his focus almost entirely inward at this point.

But then John was standing beside him.

"Don't worry," John said. "Mary will get her to listen."

"I hope so," said Sherlock. "Much safer at Baker Street, but I can hardly take her there kicking and screaming. At least… I _could_ -" His mouth twitched against a sudden smile, envisioning this admittedly interesting scenario. "-but it would certainly be less than discreet."

John chuckled. "She's already mad as fire, Best not push her over the edge. It'll take her a while to forgive you as it is."

"Hmmm." Sherlock's urge to smile dissipated.

Five minutes later, he and John were sitting on the couch and Mycroft was just pouring out the tea when Mary and Molly reemerged from the bedroom. Sherlock observed the subtle but discernible look of satisfaction on Mary's face, and the more obvious but conflicted expression on Molly's, and gave a sigh of relief.

"All right," Molly said, again, addressing Sherlock, her voice tight, fighting tears. "I will come to stay in Baker Street, on two conditions. Toby has to come with me. And you will enter rehab as soon as this situation is resolved."

Sherlock groaned. "Not the bloody cat, too? He hates me!"

"You'll be _kind_ to him, and make friends. Mrs. Hudson loves him."

"He doesn't get ginger hair all over Mrs. Hudson's black trousers."

Molly almost smiled a little at this, but then refocused. "And you will go to rehab. Do you agree?"

And it was not only Molly. John, Mary, and bloody Mycroft were peering at him expectantly.

Four against one.

It seemed the game was up. For now.

"Very well," he said, slouching, and running a hand through his hair. A hand that was not quite steady. He gave a sidelong glance at Molly, and saw a softer expression in the brown eyes that rested upon him, though she still did not smile.

"Tea?" said Mycroft, sounding far too pleased.

But Sherlock only said, "God, yes!" and took the proffered cup.

~.~


End file.
